Aftermath
by BlueNeutrino
Summary: Dettlaff is dead, and Geralt is exhausted, blood-drenched, and in pain. Even if Regis failed to save his blood brother, his skills as a barber-surgeon will at least let him help his best friend.


Regis carries Dettlaff's body back to Mère-Lachaiselongue wrapped in his own tunic and without saying a word. Geralt goes with him, upholding the silence and respectfully hanging back once they reach the crypt. He wishes it hadn't come to this. Wishes Dettlaff would have listened to reason if only to spare Regis this pain. But that hadn't been the way things had gone, and now it's too late.

The lid of a marble sarcophagus is where Regis finally lays down his friend's body, bowing his head as he drapes it in a white sheet. His shoulders slump forward, eyes closed as he takes a moment to finally allow it to sink it. He looks spent. Defeated.

The deed done, Geralt awkwardly clears his throat. Part of him wants to put this off for longer, but there's little point delaying the inevitable. "I should go to the Duchess, tell her the beast is dealt with."

Regis' solemnly hung head abruptly straightens up. "Absolutely not."

"If she asks for proof, I'll tell her it wasn't possible…"

"Geralt." Regis turns to him and strides a pace. "What you do or don't tell Annarietta right now doesn't concern me. In the past few hours alone, you've come close to death more than once, two higher vampires have fed on you, you've faced an extremely taxing battle, and been subjected to Dettlaff's venom. You aren't going anywhere until I've taken a thorough look at you." He jerks his head towards the chair by the desk. "Remove your armour and take a seat over there."

Geralt would protest if it weren't for the look in Regis' eyes. He's already failed to save one friend. He needs this as much as Geralt does.

Geralt sighs and begins to do as he's asked, though the soreness in his limbs make it difficult as he fumbles with the buckles and cross-straps on his armour. Regis moves to help him without a word, unfastening the clasps and lifting away the heavy structures of leather and metal as if they weigh no more than wool.

As the breastplate comes away, Geralt draws a deep breath and feels his ribs creak. "What do you mean 'Dettlaff's venom'?" he asks after tugging off his shirt and sitting for Regis to examine him. The vampire's claws have immediately gone to the freshest bite wound in his neck, carefully inspecting the damage.

"The substance Dettlaff secretes in his bite is unique even among vampires," Regis explains, gently probing the bite in question. "In addition to impeding blood coagulation, it also possesses hallucinogenic properties, the effects of which I'm sure you felt."

Geralt frowns, and thinks back to the strange dome of blood and red pulp Dettlaff had trapped him in. Even at the time it had felt oddly dreamlike. "You mean higher vampires can't turn into giant amorphous blood creatures with multiple beating hearts?"

"Is that what you saw?" Regis raises an eyebrow, and fetches over a basin of water to begin cleaning the wound. "No, we cannot. The venom is most potent in the presence of adrenaline, and the hallucinations it instigates are strongly tied to a fear response. After the blood loss you suffered, the visions you describe are not entirely surprising."

"How do you mean?"

Regis places a fingertip against Geralt's carotid artery, careful that his claw doesn't nick the skin. "Your body believed you were dying. Fear that you would lose too much blood and your heart might stop could certainly provoke visions that taunt you with that possibility." He hums and presses a little harder. "Your pulse remains weak and rapid. I fear it could take several hours to return to normal."

His attention turns to the bite at the other side of Geralt's neck, left by the Unseen, and begins to apply an ointment to the barely-scabbed wound. Geralt lets him without saying a word.

Several minutes pass while Regis tends to the bites, before he pulls back and surveys Geralt with a sigh. "This may be uncomfortable, but I think I'll bandage your neck," he says. "Both wounds are still weeping and need a defence against infection, though I suspect they won't take too long to heal. With your mutations, perhaps no more than a day or two."

Geralt grunts, lets Regis do what he has to. He's no stranger to a bandaged neck.

He waits until the vampire is done before trying to speak, surprised to find hands cradling his face as Regis peers into his eyes. He's checking that the effects of the venom have truly worn off.

"Regis," Geralt croaks. His throat feels tight, and not because of the gauze binding it. "I'm sorry."

Regis hangs his head, suddenly struggling to maintain eye contact. "Don't, Geralt. I know that Dettlaff left you no choice."

"That isn't what I meant. I don't regret doing what I had to when it came to Dettlaff, but I regret the pain it's caused you. I'm sorry that you have to go through this."

There's a beat as Regis swallows, then meets Geralt's eyes again. For a long moment, the vampire simply looks at him, then places a gentle hand on Geralt's shoulder and gives a squeeze. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

Shortly, the vampire's attention turns to the rest of Geralt's body, looking for damage or bruising his armour wasn't able to stave off. He checks the witcher's breathing by feeling his chest, then examines swelling on his right shoulder and assesses the mobility of the joint. Nothing's torn, though it's possibly sprained, and Regis dearly hopes Geralt won't have to draw his sword for the next few days.

There are claw marks on Geralt's forearm that Regis cleans and bandages before more closely inspecting the bruising on his lower ribs for any signs of internal bleeding. "Lie down on the mattress, Geralt. It will be easier to examine you."

With a groan, Geralt lowers himself onto the thin mattress on the ground next to the chair, leaving Regis to kneel on the stone beside him. He's beginning to feel it now that his potions are wearing off: dull aches in his joints turning sharp, bruises on his chest and shoulders throbbing painfully. His neck hurts. So does his head, and he's overcome with an urge to close his eyes.

Regis' touch is gentle when he presses on Geralt's abdomen just below his ribs. "Tell me if you feel any pain," he instructs, though as he probes, there's none of the hardness that would indicate an internal bleed.

"Mm. Not there. Do feel sick though."

"Only natural, considering the number of chemicals and toxins your body is currently trying to process." Regis places a hand on Geralt's liver and presses. "Just lie still and try to relax. It will pass."

After the whole exhausting ordeal, Geralt has no trouble relaxing. Regis will be lucky if he's still awake by the time the exam is over.

A gentle touch returns to his chest, Regis lying his palm flat over Geralt's heart. Its strength hasn't returned. The vampire can still feel the beats are uncharacteristically weak, but the pace is slowing, moving closer towards Geralt's regular pulse. Regis isn't sure if that should concern him or not. In any case, he'll keep listening.

"Geralt," he says after a while, not having moved his hand from the witcher's heart. "Thank you, my friend. For giving Dettlaff a chance. I know how much that was to ask of you, but I can't tell you how grateful I am that you tried."

Geralt doesn't respond. He's asleep. Probably has been for a while, considering how the rhythm of his breathing hasn't changed for some time. Regis sighs, and in a way feels glad. It's perhaps easier this way.

He gets up to fetch the ragged blanket lying a few feet away and drapes it over Geralt's sleeping form. He can't help that his eyes wander to the shape of Dettlaff lying beneath the sheet when he stands, and feels a pang in his own heart. He's lost one dear friend, but the other is lying right here beside him with his heart still beating. That heart is weak, maybe, but unmistakably alive.

Regis draws comfort from that as he lies down on the floor beside the mattress. The stone is uncomfortable, but he's too tired to care. It isn't important. All that matters now is the beating heart thumping steadily beside him and the man it belongs to. It will be stronger in the morning. Regis doesn't even contemplate the alternative.

He isn't really thinking about it when he reaches a hand for Geralt's, wrapping his fingers around his friend's wrist and touching his pulse. The solidity of it, tangible in a way the thumping in his ears isn't, provides a comfort.

Regis closes his eyes and sleeps.


End file.
